The Secret Desires of a Governess (14 page)

She’d fallen asleep as he neared his chambers. He headed there instead of her room because it would be a great deal easier to wash her up there with running water in his bathing room.

Who in hell had been up on the parapet with her? It was too dark to make out any details beyond the dark monk’s robe billowing in the wind, obscuring all their features and true size. When he found out who dared to harm someone in his household— and he would find out—

he’d have to keep his temper in check, so he wasn’t tempted to throw them from the highest tower to meet their own death.

Miss Hallaway’s fall brought back long- forgotten words uttered from Madeline. His wife had been too frightened to leave the house once she was pregnant. Had ranted about someone wishing her demise. He hadn’t believed her at the time. Now he wondered if his wife ever met with any accidents. Had she been trying to protect herself by staying inside the

house? She wouldn’t even walk the grounds with him. As her condition had worsened and the pregnancy had taken its toll on her body, he’d called the doctor in. It had been too late. Paranoia had taken firm root in her mind, and the wife he remembered had forever changed.

Miss Hallaway was of a stronger constitution. Her mind and will were strong whereas his wife’s had not been. He need not worry about Miss Hallaway. She would grow angry from this incident, not melancholy.

Laying her as gently as possible on the chaise longue in his room, he went to retrieve towels, wetting them and bringing them back to her to wash the cuts on her hands where she’d stopped her fall.

Superficial scrapes marred her palms. He was happy to see that there were no lacerations that would require stitches.

What would have happened had he not been watching for her this morning? Something he’d done since she’d taken to walking the castle grounds. He was never far behind, but never close enough for her to notice him.

Who would dare do this to someone in his care? It had to be someone who knew the castle well. Knew its faults and dangers. Knew the path Miss Hallaway walked regularly.

Setting a washing bowl in his lap, he submerged her hands in the cool water and picked out a few pebbles embedded into her delicate skin. There was minimal bleeding, but the water turned pink with the small amount of blood she had lost. When her hands were clean, he wiped them on a towel and set a pillow under her leg to elevate her ankle. He needed to get the swelling down so it could be better looked at.

He checked her limbs again, feeling for any broken bones or other swellings that he might have missed in his quick perusal of her earlier. Her knee was bruised an ugly shade of red and purple. That would make walking even more difficult for her. Still, aside from that— and the swelling of her ankle— she would only sport a few bruises from her ordeal.

She’d been very lucky.

Glancing at the tall clock in the corner of the room, he thought about how he should handle this sudden problem with Miss Hallaway. It was too early for anyone to be up and about in the house, so it wasn’t an easy task to summon a doctor unless he went over to the servants’ quarters to wake someone, or took it upon himself to ride to town.

If he did leave her for a while, no one would dare enter his chambers and cause her any harm. No one would even think to find her in here. But he didn’t want to chance leaving her alone.

He’d send Thomas to collect the doctor. In the meantime, he could fetch some ice for her ankle. The swelling needed to be brought down. Hopefully it was no more than a sprain.

When he arrived back in his chambers, Miss Hallaway’s eyes

were open, her foot still elevated, and her dainty calf exposed on the pillow. It wasn’t his imagination that the bruise was growing darker, and larger. It now covered half her foot. Hopefully the ice would stifle further bruising.

“You shouldn’t trouble yourself,” she said.

As she propped herself up on her elbows so she was reclined against the end of the chaise instead of lying on it, her ankle slid from the support of the pillow. She hissed in a sharp breath when it bounced on the seat.

“I most certainly shall. You nearly fell to your death, Miss Hallaway, and all you have to say to me is that I shouldn’t fret over your injuries?”

He moved the pillow back in place for her, and wrapped one of the dry towels around the ice before

setting it over her ankle. Hopefully this did the trick, because there was very little ice left in the well beneath the main house.

“The servants can help me.”

“A shame then that I am the only person up in the house who can help you right now.”

Miss Hallaway looked down at her foot, a scowl firmly on her face.

“For the life of me, I can’t understand why someone would wish me any harm.”

The look on her face was one of distress crossed with pain.

“It’s not the first strange accident to have happened here over the years. Just the first for me to witness.”

Accidents had happened often when his wife was alive.

Though he was sure Madeline had been the cause of most of those incidents. Including the one that had finally claimed her life and nearly his son’s, too.

“Oh,” was all she said.

“You’ve been through quite an ordeal. If you’d like to sleep here, at least till the doctor has looked you over, by all means do so.”

“I shouldn’t be in here, my lord. What should the rest of the staff think?”

“That you are injured and under my care. Don’t read too much into it. You made it clear to me that you abhor my company.”

Why else would she have gone to such great lengths to avoid him if that weren’t the truth?

“I—”

He didn’t want to hear her excuses. He stood from where he knelt next to her and went into the bathing chamber to wash out the linens he’d bloodied in cleaning her cuts.

“The house hold won’t be up for another hour. I’m going to walk the grounds, see if any of the outside entrances have been left open to intruders.”

Her face was downcast, the fringe of her lashes covering her eyes from him. She said nothing. She couldn’t even look him in the eye after the accusation. That struck deeper than it should have. He shouldn’t care what she thought at the end of the day. Shouldn’t care that he wanted her to like him even a small bit. If not for the plea sure they had found in each other’s arms, then for his rescuing her.

What a fool that made him. He locked his chamber door behind him, not wanting anything untoward to happen to Miss Hallaway as he checked the grounds.

His first stop was his son’s chamber. Opening the door, he saw Jacob stretched out on his stomach, blankets kicked down to the end of the bed, hair mussed and sticking up.

His mouth was open, a light snore emanating from between his lips.

He stepped into the room and brushed his fingers through his son’s hair. It was the first time he’d noticed that his son didn’t sport dirt of any kind on his face or on his curled- up hands. Even his nails appeared to be buffed out and free of grime. His hair looked to be washed, too. This was new.

Did Miss Hallaway have something to do with this change? He didn’t doubt it for one moment. She had come far with his son’s appearance, it seemed. With one final brush of his fingers through the boy’s hair, he pulled up the counterpane and tucked it around Jacob’s shoulders.

He locked the door behind him and made his way outdoors. First stop would be to see Thomas, who would have to fetch the doctor. Second, he would make sure that none of the old passageways through the castle had been used, and lock and doors that remained open to the outside world.

Those words, you ask: May a blight fall upon your family and your kingdom fall around you, for your family will not seed another generation to fill the lands around you.

—The Dragon of Brahmors

Abby lay back on the high end of the chaise once the click of the lock tumbled over. Was he concerned she would attempt going to her room, or genuinely worried for her safety?

She wished she didn’t feel quite so useless. Helpless.

The throbbing pressure she felt in her ankle and partway up her leg made it near impossible not to cry out in pain.

But she bit back the sobs. It would only make her head pound as much as her ankle should she succumb to that need.

Besides, her head still reeled from the fact that someone had tried to push her to an early death. But who? And why, for heaven’s sake? She’d have to be more vigilant from now on. The reasoning behind her fall made no sense.

She’d gone to church this past weekend, had met a lot of the townsfolk, if not all of them. But would they hold some sort of grudge against her for living at Brendall Castle? For being in the employ of Lord Brendall?

Everyone in the village had been cold at first, but had eventually warmed toward her. Even the reluctant vicar’s wife had gone from pinch- faced bitterness to lovely kindness in the course of a couple of hours. There wasn’t anyone who wasn’t cordial with her by the time she’d left for home with Lydia.

Abby was not the type to make enemies. At least none that she was aware of.

Opening her eyes, she stared up at the ceiling. A fresco of angels danced in blue skies. They all wore fl owing white gowns in a Grecian style, their long blonde hair hanging loose around their shoulders and wings. One held a hunting horn, two bitches at her heels; another strung an arrow in her bow, pointing it to the clouds painted in the scene.

Not angels then. Warrior maidens? Goddesses from liter-ature?

Strikingly similar to the maiden depicted in the painting on the landing up to the bedchambers. A distant relative perhaps? Had she been a lady of the castle? Or even the master’s dead wife? The thought sent a shiver through her. It would be unsettling to know the paintings were of his dead wife. Maybe he grieved deeply for the woman.

She’d have to ask Jacob who the woman was, if only to ease her mind that Lord Brendall no longer pined after his wife. To think that he did seemed ludicrous since he’d had her buried where no one could easily find her grave.

The room she was in boasted a wall of windows. The opulence made her feel as though she were back at her sister’s. Rich burgundy fabric covered the large four- poster bed. The rugs on the floor looked Persian, threaded with dark hues of red, browns, and oranges. The walls were papered in gold, the motif too far off to make out the finer details. Sheepskins were placed on the floor beside the bed and in front of the fireplace— a nice place to curl your toes on a cold morning or evening.

The room was easily four times the size of hers. A huge marble fireplace was situated in the middle of one wall, the veining a light gray. Lion heads were carved into either side, their mouths opened to reveal their deadly teeth. The chaise she rested upon was of yellow velvet, the pillows the exact same gold coloring as was on the walls.

The room provided no insight into Lord Brendall’s character. She could no more figure him out today than she could upon her arrival. That fact grated since she had become intimate with the man.

His actions today, however, had illuminated a great deal about him. Had he been watching for her in the mornings?

She was nothing if not a creature of habit, her routine predictable. It shouldn’t surprise her that he’d been there to help her in an instant. Every time they’d run into each other, he’d seemingly come out of nowhere. Maybe he watched for her often. Had she known where to find him, she probably would have watched for him, too, if only to uncover more of his character.

Hiking up the lower portion of her skirts, she looked at her ankle. She had to move the cloth filled with ice to get a good look at it. The swelling had decreased, but not significantly enough that she would chance putting weight on it anytime soon.

How long would she be stuck in his room? Regardless of her injuries, she did not want the staff to find her in his lordship’s private chambers. What would they think of such folly?

She lay helpless in his room for at least an hour before he finally returned.

“You’re awake.”

She’d merely fainted from excessive pain. Of course she would come to. She looked away from him, embarrassed, and unsure of what to say or do.

“Can you please take me back to my room? I do not wish the rest of the staff to know my whereabouts.”

“I have no wish to ruin your reputation, Miss Hallaway,” he said with affront.

Yes, the circumstances had been dire in this situation.

It even made sense for her to be here. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t linger here in his company.

“Did you find any evidence to suspect foul play?”

“Nothing. All the passageways are well sealed. Have been for years. Whoever it was, they could have come though any of the main entrances into the castle. They haven’t been closed off to the outside world for years. It’ll be easy to cure that bad habit before anything else can happen to the people who live in these walls.”

He stood at the edge of the chaise, his voice soft but brimming with anger. She still hadn’t looked up to him.

She didn’t want to see what his expression held. She knew he worried for her safety. Had gone so far as to care for her himself, instead of calling on the house keeper to look after her.

“When you attended church, did anyone treat you with scorn?”

She shook her head and dared a glance at him. His arms were loose at his sides, his hands half curled into fists. His jaw clenched, his immovable mouth was narrowed into a thin line. That he was angry on her behalf shouldn’t have sent a jolt of awareness through her body. Especially with the pain still hampering her ankle.

Bits of dust and debris speckled over his dark hair. She wanted to comb the dirt out with her fingers.

“Will you please bring me back to my room?”

Nodding, he said, “Take the ice off and hold it.”

She did as he asked and was immediately scooped up into his arms. She hadn’t imagined how good being in his embrace had felt earlier. She could, indeed, bask in his arms all day, like a lizard soaking up sun on a rock ledge.

She could have been in his arms sooner had she not been so afraid of her own desires for this brawny man. He lifted her with great ease and with a gentleness that seemed so opposite to his rough exterior. She stared at him. Wanting to catch his gaze, but he was focused on their path straight ahead.

She gave in to the urge she had to run her fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

His arm tightened around her ribs and under her knees.

Still, he didn’t look at her. They passed through the doors of his room and into the hall.

She brushed the tips of her fingers over the stubble on his face. A tic started at his temple. She touched that, too, wanting to ease any distress he felt from their ordeal this morning.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He looked down at her as he opened her chamber door.

Kicking it closed behind him, he strode toward her bed.

“How does your ankle feel?”

As if she could feel her ankle when he held her so tightly against him. Her senses were fl ooded with a different type of sensation. “Better with the ice on it.”

He settled her in the bed, pulled pillows from beside her, and placed them under her leg. Taking the ice, he set it over her ankle with great care.

“I’ll have the servants set up a place for you to sit in the morning parlor. I can’t imagine you’ll take to your bed after a fall.”

Elliott got to his feet and caressed the side of her cheek with his hand. His touch nearly undid her. So much so, she clasped it between her palms just as he made to pull away.

This tenderness belied every assumption she’d made of his character.

Had she fallen to her death, she’d have died never knowing what a man truly felt like. Never knowing what it was to be fully a woman. Perhaps she was foolish to keep him at a distance. To avoid him for modesty’s sake after everything they had shared. Would it be imprudent to follow through what she thought was best as opposed to what her heart desired?

Had she not nearly fallen to her death, she might feel differently. But life, at least today, seemed far too short for uncertainties.

“Stay with me awhile longer.” She hoped beyond reason that he’d not refuse her now. “The servants won’t be up for a bit yet. I don’t want to be alone. After what happened . . .”

“You’ve avoided me, and now you’re in want of my company, Miss Hallaway?” There was no censure in his voice, just a note of unsureness and insecurity.

“You called me Abigail earlier.”

He nodded once. “I did.”

“Won’t you do so again?”

She had never been fond of hearing her full name; it reminded her of the times when her sisters had offered some sort of reproach. Coming from Lord Brendall, however, it rang differently. Intimate and for her ears alone.

He clenched his jaw but didn’t pull his hand away.

“You cause me a great deal of trouble,” he said.

“I’m the youngest of three.” She smiled at him, hoping he’d return the gesture. “My main objective as a child was to see how much I could get away with before my father reprimanded me.”

He raised one dark brow at her. “We’ve had very different lives. I cannot confess the same.”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. She was damnably tired. So tired it was hard to keep her eyes open, but too frightened to go to sleep just yet. “Please . . . I want you to stay.”

“For a short while.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, pulling his arm so he had to lean in closer. “Sit with me till then.”

With a deep sigh, he walked over to the door and shut it. Clicking over the lock, he said, “I shouldn’t want anyone to find us in a compromising position.”

“Of course,” she responded a small smile of victory playing on her lips.

What in hell was she about? Yes, she’d been through an ordeal this morning, but her words were sweeter than normal. Her demeanor even more disturbing. For a woman who had avoided him for the better part of a week, why the sudden change?

Was she afraid to be alone? Understandable after everything that had transpired. He didn’t have any experience with women like Miss Hallaway. Abby, she’d once said. No, that didn’t feel quite right on his tongue or in his head. He much preferred Abigail— a strong name for a strong- willed woman.

Grabbing the pillow from the chair, he tossed it on the bed and climbed in beside her. He leaned against the headboard and focused on his boots. He should remove them, but if he started to remove articles of clothing, he doubted he’d stop till he was quite naked. And then his focus would be getting her quite naked next to him.

She was in pain and he didn’t want to cause her any more hurt than she’d already endured.

So he closed his eyes, put his head back, and folded his hands together over his stomach. She rustled around next to him, arranging her skirts and sighing softly as she settled in to rest tightly against his side.

This was not something he’d ever done before. Sit next to a woman in bed, and do nothing of a carnal nature. The very thought had his loins stirring.

He decided right then that doing this could kill a man.

He wanted to gather his woman up in his arms, forget that she was his son’s governess and forget that she’d been the one to avoid him after everything they’d shared since her arrival. He’d be able to escape soon. Just as soon as she was asleep. Couldn’t be that long. She’d been through an ordeal, to say the least.

“The ice is making me cold,” she whispered sleepily, snuggling tighter into him.

He cracked his eyes open to look down at her. Lifting his folded hands away from his stomach, he allowed her to place her head against his chest and her small hand over his abdomen.

He froze. Surely she felt the tension that tightened his body. When she didn’t move away, but snuggled in more, he lowered his arms, one lying over her shoulder to keep her from rolling away. With the other, he couldn’t help but trace the soft lines of her hand.

Realizing what he was doing, he stopped and put his arm behind his head to lean against it.

She was warm and soft next to him. Her small breasts pressed against his ribs, her hip against his thigh. He hoped to God her eye were closed, or else she’d see the state she had inadvertently and most likely unintentionally put him in. A state he could do nothing about at the moment.

Although . . . they were alone. The door was locked.

And no one would bother them for some time yet.

No, he couldn’t demand anything of her. He’d not take her like a damn barbarian. There were more appropriate times to address his want for her, such as after they discussed why she’d run off on him the last time they were together.

When she inhaled deeply, her breasts pushed against his side. He swallowed against the tight knot in his throat.

How hard would it be to untangle himself from her and escape her chamber? If he didn’t . . .

If he didn’t get off the bed this very instant, and leave her to her own devices, he’d start touching her.

He moved his hand marginally higher where it rested over her ribs.

He knew immediately that she wore no corset.

No goddamn corset. No wonder he felt the soft give of her breasts against his side: There was nothing between them but a few layers of silk and linen.

The soft plumpness of her breast had him ready to go off in his trousers. Well, damn, this put him in a bad position. He should have told her he couldn’t stay. Instead he’d made resisting the need to tumble her damn near impossible.

He’d have to live with the feel of her smaller body crushed alongside his. Her breath wasn’t slow and shallow like someone intent on sleeping. It was deep, but rushed.